Contrary to popular belief, Dude did listen when the Mistress yapped about her day.  He might not have acknowledged it, but he knew all about Janice getting the manager position after she had to let go Monica for shoplifting or Eliza calling out again because of some babysitter bullshit.  Sometimes, he felt like he could have been an honorary employee with how much of the drama he’d learned through osmosis.  But with the gossip about coworkers came the stories about customers.  The prominent community figures who would sneak into the arcade with a half-assed disguise or the regular customers who ended up in the ER again for getting something that wasn’t anal approved stuck up his poopshoot.  None of those zany stories were why he paid attention though.  Every so often, she would complain about men, and those were the times he was more of an active listener.

“You’d think I run an abortion clinic with how many self-proclaimed ‘activists’ I’ve dealt with recently,” she said, swiping the brush of black nail polish along her toenail.  “It always blows my mind how many conservatives are in this town.  Makes me forget I’m not back home.”

Dude hummed into his beer can as he lifted it for a sip.  Though his face portrayed indifference, his mind was making notes.

“The hell are they even protesting?” he asked.

She sighed, dipping the brush back into the polish.

“A battle for decency,” she replied in a mocking tone.  “Decency?  In Paradise?  Pfft, good fucking luck.  This shithole’s got bigger problems than me selling flavored lube and edible panties…  I’m not mad about the protest.  I’ve had more traffic since that bigot began his crusade against my shop.  I just don’t appreciate that guy staking out my truck when I pull in the parking lot to harass me and call me the whore of Babylon… ‘Mother of Harlots and abominations of the earth!’” She paused to laugh after her evangelical impersonation.  “Christ, I wish.”

She may have been laughing it off, but Dude wasn’t.  She didn’t need anyone to take care of her.  She carried a piece and knew how to use it.  She had a good head on her shoulders.  That didn’t stop Dude’s blood from boiling at the idea of her being harassed by some self-righteous chauvinist for just earning a living like anyone else.  Just because she could blow a man to Timbuktu didn’t mean she should have to do that.

The Mistress usually showed up to start her shift between 4:30 and 5.  Dude was outside of Paradise Mall around 3 that following day.  He loitered in the parking garage with Champ, smoking a cigarette in his own car not too far from where she usually parked.  It was a weekday, not too many people were shopping at this time, but he kept an eye on every vehicle he saw and each person that exited it.  Not long after the top of the hour, he saw a white Cadillac pull in and park.  A portly man who looked to be in his mid-fifties stepped out and looked around the lot.  He glanced at his wrist watch before popping the trunk to get a picket sign from within.  That was all the proof Dude needed.  He fit the description of the man he’d heard the Mistress talking about.

“C’mon, Champ,” Dude said, smashing the filter of his cigarette into the car’s built in ash-tray.  He flung open the door and slid out, with his dog following along behind.  He walked to his own trunk and looked inside, grabbing the shovel he’d taken out of his shed.  Throwing it over his shoulder, he stalked towards his prey.  No one got to fuck with that woman but him.  No one hassled her. 

He walked right up behind the man, who was talking on his cell phone and didn’t hear him approach.  Lifting his shovel, he swung and hit the back of the man’s head with the spade.  The picket sign clattered to the ground, but the man didn’t go down with it.  He hissed in pain and held the back of his head, so Dude struck him again.  And again.  And again.  He wanted to ensure that this man would never give his girl trouble ever again.  Over and over until his body collapsed onto the pavement and his head separated from his body.  He gave it a kick, letting it roll across multiple parking spaces and leave a trail of blood behind it.  Champ barked once before trotting over to it.  The dog’s teeth sunk into the head and he walked it back over to this master.

“Good boy,” Dude said, crouching down to the dog’s level to scratch between his ears as he dropped the severed head by his boots.  He gave the head another kick, sending it further along.  As Champ turned away to retrieve it again, Dude unzipped his pants.  He whipped his cock out, got into his stance, and began to urinate all over the desecrated corpse.

“How’s that for decency?”